wish to speak to," he began. "But I want all of you to note what 1 am going to say. I am
an old man and you are all children .1 know more about the world than any of you. If
there is any one among you who thinks he knows more let him speak up." He paused,
but no one spoke.
"Why is Okonkwo with us today? This is not his clan. We are only his mother's
kinsmen. He does not belong here. He is an exile, condemned for seven years to live in
a strange land. And so he is bowed with grief. But there is just one question I would like
to ask him. Can you tell me, Okonkwo, why it is that one of the commonest names we
give our children is Nneka, or "Mother is Supreme?" We all know that a man is the head
of the family and his wives do his bidding. A child belongs to its father and his family
and not to its mother and her family. A man belongs to his fatherland and not to his
motherland. And yet we say Nneka -'Mother is Supreme.' Why is that?"
There was silence. "1 want Okonkwo to answer me," said Uchendu.
"I do not know the answer," Okonkwo replied.
"You do not know the answer? So you see that you are a child. You have many
wives and many children--more children than I have. You are a great man in your clan.
But you are still a child, my child. Listen to me and I shall tell you. But there is one
more question I shall ask you. Why is it that when a woman dies she is taken home to be
buried with her own kinsmen? She is not buried with her husband's kinsmen. Why is
that? Your mother was brought home to me and buried with my people. Why was that?"
Okonkwo shook his head.
"He does not know that either," said Uchendu, "and yet he is full of sorrow
because he has come to live in his motherland for a few years." He laughed a mirthless
laughter, and turned to his sons and daughters. "What about you? Can you answer my
question?"
They all shook their heads.